Any Other Day
by burnskd
Summary: You remember the story of Humpty Dumpty? Well nobody ever said he was an egg. Only a day or so ago, Zelena was defeated and Belle and Rumpelstiltskin married. Now the shock of what all he has endured has hit Rumpelstiltskin like a brick wall, leaving Belle the task of putting him back together again. As his maid, Belle always knew that a little hot water could solve anything.


**I made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin for this gig... unfortunately I now own nothing. Go figure. **

* * *

Belle was standing in the same spot that she had occupied everyday since Rumpelstiltskin left for Neverland- behind the counter of his shop with her curious nose stuck in her latest discovery held beneath the wood and glass of the aged cabinets. It was getting towards late in the evening, but of course Belle was only guessing that. The events of the past few days had caused time to string together into one long, continuous, indecipherable picture. But something about the way the last amber light of day peaked above the trees and buildings outside solely to shine in individual beams through the shop windows really spoke to Belle, though she wasn't quite sure what it was. She reveled in the way the dwindling spots of golden light came together to cover her body in a unified warmth and glow when she turned her back. Blinded by a singular ray as she turned to look out the window, her hands twiddled with what ever object they ran across on the counter causing individual dust particles to float visibly in the light. Giddy as she was, the image of the room she stood in was what she needed to finally relax, even just a little. The smallest of smiles pulled at the corner of her mouth and eye as she fingered the ring on her left hand. Now she knew what it was. The warmth of the darkening room and the sparkle of the modest ring on her finger reminded her of him; reminded her she was his.

...

After a while, as the last strings of light left the room, the bell above the door chimed signaling the arrival of a customer. Quickly Belle turned to greet them, but the man who leaned against the door now was far from a customer. Rumpelstiltskin's domineering form cast an eerie shadow across the floor with the little light that was left. Recognizing her partner, Belle gave him a sympathetic smile that quickly faded as she saw how he struggled for every movement. In truth, the door frame was probably the only thing that kept him from collapsing to the floor. She rushed around the counter and embraced him as he practically hauled himself into the middle of the room, making each step deliberate and trying his best to return her smile.

Belle recalled earlier that day when, seeing how worn and haggard he felt after everything that happened with Zelena only a day or so before, she decided that he needed time to himself. He insisted that she was the best thing for him, but Belle convinced him that there were things he needed to work out by himself. It seemed that Granny's was the preferred place to do that. She would be waiting for him when he was ready. Apparently now he was ready, or so she thought. Belle had only seen her partner drink a couple times before, and though she didn't necessarily approve, she understood. But what she definitely knew was that he was classy; he was _never_ a drunk. So she was fully confident that the man she saw now practically stumble into her arms was nothing more than a broken man who just had the rug pulled out from underneath him. Fortunately for him, she was a comfortable enough floor to fall on. _  
_

As the couple stood in the middle of the room with the glow of the street lamps replacing the sunlight that shone through the windows, they had no need to say anything. Maybe any other day they would have, but not today. For what they longed to be forever, they held onto the other's forearms and breathed in the existence of the other, forehead to forehead. Craving for as much touch as possible, their hands wandered until hers lingered on his tense shoulders; his fell in the small of her back. Belle explored with her nose his neck, his jaw, his cheek and discovered layered on each of them his usual leathery smell and the slightest hint of that day's occupation... _"Single malt scotch,"_ Belle thought to herself. She looked up to meet his eyes, only to see that they were closed, so she coaxed her hand to caress his jaw and shivered when his graying stubble scratched her skin. Any other day she would have kissed him senseless, but not today.

"You okay," she whispered hesitantly. His response was simple.

"No," he conceited, eyes still closed as he let out the most piteous sigh.

Belle took note of the state of his person. Though Zelena had been defeated and the dagger returned to its rightful owner, his carriage slumped even more now as though his wrists and ankles were weighted with actual iron restraints instead of the magical, metaphorical ones Zelena placed on him. But Belle could tell from the strain in his face and shoulders that he was fighting it; fighting the exhaustion, still fighting Zelena. And if you asked him, he would probably say he was doing it for her. His breathing was heavy, but not forced; his muscles tired, but not weak; his mind distant, but not absent. It was clear that he had mental and emotional injuries far worse than any physical ones. Any other day she would have lectured him, but not today.

...

"Home," she questioned after several prolonged moments.

"Please." She slid away from him and reached for his cane that had not been used in several months, thinking that if ever there was a time when he needed it, it would be now; he grabbed for her hand before she could ever reach it. She eyed him nervously, but he was already pulling her for the shop door. She decided that the quicker they were home the better, and if worst came to worst, she could be as good a crutch as any. So without any delay they locked the door and headed down the sidewalk, his arm fastened across her shoulders and her hand secured to his waist. Any stray passerby would have sworn the pair a ghost as their form passed from one spot light to the next, illuminated by the street lamps one minute and overcast by darkness the next.

* * *

Belle couldn't help but notice Rumpel's far off distant gaze as they headed for home. Each time she looked, she would try to track his stare in hopes of finding a pattern as to what he was looking at, or looking for. But what she found was precisely the opposite: he seemed to be staring at nothing. Of course she understood, but it unnerved her all the same. She held tighter to his suit jacket in response, seemingly convincing the wrinkles in the fabric to flock to greet her fingertips. Any other day she would have tried to distract him, but not today.

Caught in her puzzlement, she was surprised when they toed the stairs of the comfortable pink house sooner than expected. She was less surprised, however, at the amount of effort required in getting both of them up the stairs. Once outside the door, they both stopped and Belle waited patiently for him to get the key out to unlock it, but he made no such movement. In fact, he was perfectly still and his gaze was still fixed forward as it was the whole walk over. Belle came to the conclusion that he had no idea they had arrived, or that they had even moved at all.

"Rumpel," she stated as she gave a slight shake to his shoulder, "The key? To let us in? Unless your plan was for us to stand out here all night."

"Hm? Oh, 'course." His lips barely moved as he spoke, using no more energy than what was absolutely required. Not once did his gaze shift from where it had been, not even when he dug in his pocket and promptly handed Belle the key to the door. Exasperated, she took the key and led them both across the threshold of the house into the foyer. Any other night she would have been worried, but not tonight.

Belle's heels clicked as they transitioned from the tiled floor of the entrance to the wood floor in the kitchen where she finally dropped her hold of his coat and placed the keys on the counter. Though she should have been, she was not surprised when he didn't move. Apparently this night, he was incapable of moving without her hand strongly placed on his back for guidance. With this in mind, she reached across the counter and placed both her hands on his shoulders, turning him to face her. When his eyes finally met hers, his face relaxed the slightest bit into what Belle counted as a smile. _"At least he can still see _**me**_,"_ she thought.

"How about a hot shower," she stated as she massaged his shoulders, "and by the time you're finished, I'll have the tea ready?" His face showed no sign of comprehension, but he curtly nodded, turned, and trudged up the stairs to the master bathroom. Content that he could do the rest by himself, Belle turned back to the kitchen and swiftly started preparing two cups of tea. She filled the kettle and placed it upon the stove, then reached for two mugs hanging from the cabinet and dropped a teabag in each. When finally the steaming water was ready, she pulled the kettle from the stove and began pouring the piping hot water into the two mugs. Except for the faint roaring sound of the water rushing from the shower upstairs, all in the house was silent. Satisfied with her work, Belle picked up the two mugs to begin her journey up the stairs, but before she could go anywhere she heard a scream echo down the halls and seep into her spine.

"Belle!"

"Rumpel," she hollered back.

"Belle!" She didn't waste another second. Without stopping to properly set the mugs down on the counter she turned and sprinted up the stairs, leaving the mugs to teeter on the edge of the granite before succumbing to their fate. Belle didn't even glance back as the sounds of shattered glass, spilled tea, and the click of her shoes on the floor reverberated in her wake. In just a few bounds she was up the stairs, across the carpeted bedroom, and turning the corner into the bathroom.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Fearing the worst, Belle called out again and listened as her voice carried down the hallway when she threw the door open and crossed into the steamed room. Her eyes were wide until her reactions allowed her mind to keep up with the image in front of her, and once it did she stopped immediately in her tracks. Just as quickly as the panic started, it dissipated and evaporated into the swirling steam. Belle didn't say anything, but how could she? Her face softened completely, leaving no trace of a smile. In fact her face was a complete mystery, void of any emotion. Her eyes, on the other hand, were the key to unraveling that mystery. They sparkled with every ounce of sympathy, concern, love, longing, passion,and perhaps the tiniest amount of lust. Whatever was in them, they desperately burned into his soul. Delicately, she inched forward, one step at a time, until she was a mere foot from the man in the shower, the thin glass the only barrier between the two. With the same distant gaze that he held all night long and a hand desperately pressed to the glass for support, Rumpelstiltskin stood in the middle of the water still dressed from top to bottom in his daring three piece suit.

If one could think it at all possible, his black suit had turned even darker as the water soaked every thread of the fabric. The water was a sultry lover, reaching through the black suit to hug his form-capturing vest. It cascaded down his shoulders and desperately grabbed for the vest, longing to reveal what was underneath yet had none of the power to do so. Finally seeping through his ocean blue button-up shirt as if it was tissue paper, his new found mistress arrived at his skin, sliding down it with ambitious reluctance in hopes of savoring every touch; each individual droplet caressing his skin with a clingy desire. Any other day Belle would have been jealous, but not today.

No exchanged glances, no shared words... nothing but the woman staring at the man staring at nothingness. Together their existence created a different kind of love triangle.

* * *

Her curiosity got the better of her. Slowly she cocked her head, allowing her brown hair to cascade over her shoulder, and reached her hand up to the glass. Without any commands her fingers automatically splayed to match his.

"Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded breathlessly, "I can fix it. You just ha..." Suddenly he snapped his head and his eyes locked on hers like an enchanted arrow on its target, causing her to gasp in surprise.

"Belle... oh Belle, I am so _so _sorry," he began. Upon speaking to her, his face changed from blank and distant to a sorrowful, melancholic grimace. But this did not discourage her; she had dealt with far worse from him in the past. Lovingly she pressed her other hand to the glass as a means of consoling him from where she stood.

"Rumpelstiltskin, there's nothing..."

"I tried. I tried so hard." He began sobbing uncontrollably, causing his body to shudder after every breath. The water from the shower had long ago soaked his hair and streamed down his face, which he was thankful for. Maybe she wouldn't notice the tears. Any other day Belle would have defended him, but not today. Today she said nothing more and let him finish speaking. This was what she decided he needed to figure out for himself.

"I fought so hard against its power, but there was nothing I could..." His Scottish accent thickened, reaching into her skin and pulling her closer to the shower wall. "I thought about what you would have done, Belle. I thought about us. I fought for us... fought for you. And oh Gods, I did a... terrible, terrible thing Belle..." Now he was gasping for air in between tears. "Belle, I am so sorry. I betrayed you. But I thought... it was the only way. Please believe me... I didn't want her! But the dagger, it was right... Oh, I almost had it Belle! I was too weak. How could you ever forgive me for being a coward?" His voice began to trail off, but the tears continued to come.

Belle's blue eyes shimmered as tears of sorrow welled up for her husband. She never tore her eyes away from his. And the whole time he spoke, his clothes continued to tell the story of his forgotten mistress, clinging and hugging his slender form.

"You did nothing wrong..." she began.

"I almost killed a child, Belle! I almost sent an arrow through his chest! Robin's boy, he did nothing to deserve it. If Robin hadn't agreed to... I wouldn't have been able to stop it... nothing I could have done. And he was so much like Bae... Please understand, Belle, that I didn't want to do it. I would have sooner died than kill his boy. But Zelena, she... oh if she had thought to touch you... If I had to do it, I could have killed you Belle!." Every breath wracked his body, forcing his fingers to clutch at the slippery glass.

"Please, if you could ever possibly forgive me... for all the hurt I have caused you..." he finished hopelessly.

Though Rumpel was practically yelling, Belle's voice remained quiet but firm, just barely audible over the sound of the shower. "Am I still here?" Silence. Any other day he would have responded, but not today. "Am I still here," she repeated. "Is Robin's son alive?" Silence.

...

For several long moments they stared into each other, lips parted, breathing tiny clouds of electric air onto the glass. Finally, Belle made a decision that Rumpelstiltskin, especially on any other day, would never have expected. Her action was an extension of understanding; a statement that she wholeheartedly accepted and embraced the fact that his pain was hers. Ever so slowly, as if trying to keep from scaring the skittish caged animal, Belle stepped down from her shoes. Goose flesh developed as her bare feet hit the tile and she watched his eyes follow her height as it dropped definitely. At this point Belle had no control over her actions, and yet every movement she made was the exact one she wanted. Her eyes never left him as she reached for the handle of the shower door, not once stopping to think about her dress or make up. Any other day he would have objected, but not today.

Slowly, then all at once Belle slipped through the shower door and into the falling water, her body mere inches from his. Her dress and hair received the same treatment as his, falling limp and dark under the power of the rushing water. Her hands wandered his body, gently caressing with her fingertips every inch of his torso, chest, and arms; her touch bridged the gap for the water to run freely from her body to his. Her eyes wandered just as freely, but never really focusing on anything, just focusing on _him_. Her head cocked with curiosity at everything she noticed: the streak of dust on his cuff, the shine on his tie, the only thread sticking out of the second button on his shirt; all came together to make up Rumpelstiltskin. His eyes, on the other hand, never left her face. He was thankful for the water streaming down his face in the hopes that it might mask his tears. His face told the rest of the story. He looked at Belle as though she was a precious artifact, one that he might hold and touch and fall in love with but never actually possess. As if she could read his mind, her fingers felt for the new metal band on his hand. She tilted her face to his to see his reaction, stopping when she met his eyes. Suddenly, someone pressed pause. The couple stood frozen in the middle of the shower, eyes locked and lips centimeters from meeting. If a director chose a moment to stop for dramatic effect, it would have been this one: a tableau of kinetic energy. Belle decided she had restrained long enough. Like a magnet brought too close to its pole, her lips flew to his; her hands shot to his shirt collar as she pulled him closer until she felt she could wrap her arms around his neck without him vanishing into thin air.

Shocked as he was, Rumpel's hands found their way to her hair, brushing the soaked strands off of her face and cocking her head in the process, revealing to him her sculpted cheek. In romantic fashion he delicately gripped the sides of her face, splaying his fingers as wide as possible to ensure full protection of his treasure, so wide that his thumbs were able to wipe stray droplets from her eyelashes while his other fingers covered her neck. Her mind slowed to a crawl and every movement seemed to drag as she felt his hands of leather turn to velvet in a touch. His kiss seared on her lips, branding her with his passion and love, that of which he saved only for her. When he withdrew, he drew her breath with him, forcing a content smile to cross her face as she inhaled that same old scent... _and that damn single malt scotch. _Wishing for more, she quickly brought her fingers to his chin and guided his lips back to hers. She didn't just want to be with him, she wanted him to be with her. She wanted him to be okay again.

In a style that was all her own, she finally broke the passionate kiss, leaving both of them breathless as they savored the feel of the water tracing the shape of their foreheads before falling down to the floor. As she always did, she brought her arms around his shoulders to stroke the back of his neck and hair in a comforting embrace. Her fiery touch had finally shocked him out of his silent day-long reverie. She felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as she brought her lips to his ear. In an accent he wouldn't soon forget, she tenderly whispered, "I forgive you."

That was all it took.

Any other day he would have tried to be strong for her, but then again, today was not any other day. He practically collapsed into her shoulder in relief, holding her for dear life.

And as the night drew on, the water continued to cascade down upon the lovers, singing a single-note lullaby in reprise as it hit the floor. The outside world remained a silent and remote backdrop to the shaky reflection of promise and love in the pool gathering outside the forgotten shower door.

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**Hey guys! Thanks for sticking through to the end. As always, much love and many happy returns. Don't forget to leave a review.**

_**I will go down with this ship!**_


End file.
